


I love the ground on where he stands

by lovestillaround



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Mention of alcohol, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Sex, No Actual Character Death, a brief mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovestillaround/pseuds/lovestillaround
Summary: they talk about death rarely, really





	I love the ground on where he stands

  
“You know that I don’t believe in afterlife, but sometimes I wonder if maybe there is something.”

“More like heaven or more like hell?”

“Hell, definitely.”

They are lying on the floor, their hands connected. It’s not a grip, it’s just the backs of their hands touching. Phil’s hands are always so soft, his skin is – obviously – almost translucent but it’s not only about the colour, but also the illusion of thinness. Dan starts to wonder – how thick is the skin actually? How many layers does it have? Is Phil’s skin thinner than Dan’s – literally? It looks like it might be, but is it really?

It’s evening and they could just go to bed or sit on the couch like normal people do. The one thing that they know is that the change of the perspective is important. Sometimes you need to see the world from a different level, even if it’s just the level of your feet.

“And what would be in this hell?” Phil asks, his hand brushing against Dan’s. It’s most probably a thoughtless gesture. Phil moves slightly because he speaks and doesn’t pay much attention to what his body is doing, for certain. Dan isn’t sure why this thought crosses his mind. He’s overanalysing everything, always. That’s just a loathsome feature of his brain.

He keeps looking at the ceiling. The dimness of the room is comforting, the space is lightened up only by a lamp and a candle on the table. The dirty plates are still lying there but Dan doesn’t see them. Not that he actually cares about them right now.

“I don’t know, we wouldn’t have our bodies there,” he starts. Phil hums, maybe in encouragement, maybe just to show that he’s listening. “So it would be darkness.”

“Only darkness?”

“Well, our minds in darkness. Just, you know, floating.”

“Sounds nice. I feel so heavy after eating all that rice that I wouldn’t mind floating.”

Dan gives his shoulder a shove. “Take me seriously.”

“Is it a serious conversation?” Phil asks, turning around to lie on his side, and then he looks at Dan. His eyes are shining and it’s weird because what are they reflecting? The room is quite dark, and all the sources of light are behind him. “I didn’t know that,” he adds, quietly.

Their hands don’t touch anymore. Maybe that’s why Phil brings up his palm to Dan’s face. Maybe it only feels right to be physically close when they’re talking about death. Maybe Dan’s just always overly melodramatic.

“It wouldn’t make any sense though,” he continues ignoring Phil’s question. “If we didn’t have our bodies it would mean that we also wouldn’t have our brains, and if we didn’t have our brains, we wouldn’t be able to think and therefore we wouldn’t exist.”

“And what about souls?”

“I don’t have a soul,” Dan says slowly, as slowly as he can manage, putting emphasis on every word as if it is the most important thing he has ever said to Phil, as if he wants this sentence to be engraved in his mind. It’s not like that, obviously. This time he is dramatic intentionally.

Phil smiles, only with a corner of his lips, and cups Dan’s cheek, as if he wants to say _of course you do, of course you have a soul_. He doesn’t say that. He has never actually said that. Every time Dan insists that he’s filled with black void in place of a soul, Phil only smiles or shortly laughs. They have never argued about it. Phil has never pressured him to say something more cheerful.

*

“I feel so sick,” Phil says in between coughs, his body covered with a thick layer of sheets and blankets, only his head sticking out from underneath it. Dan wants to wrap his arms around him, but he couldn’t even tell where his middle is. Instead, he opts for pushing back the strands of slightly sweaty hair from Phil’s forehead, checking at the same time if his fever has gotten worse or not. He can’t really tell, so he reaches to the night stand to grab the thermometer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, partially replying to what Phil just said, partially apologizing for uncovering his body.

“I’m dying,” Phil whines and shivers, probably from cold, when Dan slides the thermometer under his armpit.

“You’re not.”

The answer is immediate, it’s kind of a slip-out, and for a moment Dan feels almost embarrassed that this is his instinct. He couldn’t even imagine Phil dying. He’d be in complete denial if it happened, even now he has a need to negate it straight away, even though Phil most likely has just a cold.

“I could die right now.”

Dan is suddenly sure that Phil’s fever is worse than before. He never talks about death.

Dan mentions death quite often in the conversations but right now it feels a bit too real. It’s so out of Phil’s character that it makes him feel uncomfortable. Maybe it’s only because it feels like he’s alone right now. Phil isn’t really able to take care of himself in a state like this and it’s all Dan’s job to make him safe. His responsibility. He’s aware that it might make him a hypocrite, to think that it’s wrong, to be upset and worried that Phil even mentions something like this, but he’s not used to him saying such things. It’s not the Phil that he knows.

They never really get that sick. Dan lost his voice a couple of times and there were days when they were barely leaving the bed or when they slept all day or when they couldn’t eat, but it has never been balancing at the edge of consciousness, it has never been that bad. It has never been that scary.

“It’s okay, babe,” Dan says. “I’m taking care of you.” He knows he’s mumbling nonsense and he knows that Phil might not even be listening to him right now, but if anything, he does it to calm himself a little. It makes him feel like he’s in control of the situation.

If only it was true, and people had the power to keep others alive by loving and caring, he’s sure that he and Phil would become immortal. But he guesses that it wouldn’t be fair to other people who maybe don’t have as much luck as they do. The earth would become completely congested, too. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Somehow the thought of not being enough of love in the world is more upsetting to him than thinking that they’ll all die someday.

Phil’s cheeks are flushed pink and his eyelids flutter, as if he’s trying really hard to not fall asleep.

 _Maybe he’s scared that if he falls asleep, he’s gonna have nightmares, or never wake up_ , is the thought that appears in Dan’s head rather involuntarily, a thought that makes him start to panic before he even has a chance to question the rationality of it. He tries to breathe through it, calm himself down. It’s silly, it’s just his brain playing up, and Phil’s going to be okay. Dan’s not a person to fall into panic because of his own stupid thoughts, for fuck’s sake.

He takes one more deep breath. It’s like googling your symptoms, he reminds himself, it’s like typing them in and then all the websites tell you that you have cancer, and you freak out, even though what you really have is totally harmless in comparison. He needs to realise that this fear is just a temporary malfunction of his brain, or rather some safety mechanisms that he doesn’t really need right now. His fear isn’t very rational because it’s all about the probability. How big is the probability that someone relatively healthy would die from an infection? Rather low.

It takes one look at Phil for the fear to come back. He looks miserable, and so fragile that it hurts Dan in a weird, specific way that he’s never experienced. Phil coughs and it shakes his whole body as if he’s made of paper. Dan leans a bit closer, protectively, aimlessly. Of course he does.

*

When he comes back, he’s slightly moist. His hair is curlier, he can feel under his fingers that his fringe is all wrong. It isn’t the best day. It also isn’t the worst, he’s just frustrated at something, he isn’t sure at what. Maybe he’s also a little sad, or rather melancholic. He hates nostalgia, looking back at his life and analysing it, always analysing. What has he done wrong? Oh, all the things he’s done wrong.

“How was your walk?”

Phil greets him in the hall, he rarely does that. He doesn’t do it when he thinks that Dan is feeling really bad, and he doesn’t do it when Dan is good and leaves to buy something they forgot to order or just to breathe in some fresh air. Dan places his shoes in the corner of the room, thinking about what he could answer. He’s not really in the mood for a deep talk. He’s had enough of serious conversation with himself when he was outside.

“I saw a rat on the street. It was dead,” he says.

It happened within the first few minutes after he’d left the house. How ironic. He goes out to find some distractions – buildings, people, cars, pieces of conversation, something to ease his mind – and what he finds is an animal corpse.

“Was it a thick rat at least?”

Dan rolls his eyes. He’s hanging his coat at that moment, so Phil doesn’t get to see that, and it annoys him a little because now he has to answer. He knows that it’s silly. Talking shouldn’t be tiring, it just shouldn’t. It’s just a normal thing that people do and it’s not like Dan gave a five hours long lecture on something today. He has barely opened his mouth at all, to be honest.

“It was dead. Have some respect for his soul,” he answers when he’s recollected some energy just to do that – part his lips, make a sound. He praises himself internally for at least making a joke, when all he wants to do is to nonverbally convey that he’s exhausted and wants to be left alone.

“Oh, the holy soul of one of the thickest rats in Lon-“ Phil starts, and Dan actually forgets about being tired, just for a little moment when he reaches to cover Phil’s mouth with his own hand.

“No. Bad Phil.”

“Don’t… Don’t say such things if you’re not gonna get kinky with me.”

It does something to Dan’s stomach. He isn’t sure what it is, but it isn’t really lust. Maybe it’s surprise, or maybe it’s some weird kind of guilt.

“Do you even deserve it?” he asks, not knowing yet where he wants this conversation to go. He only feels that he needs to keep talking.

“I can earn it.”

They look at each other for a moment, and Dan is sure that the smile gradually disappears from own his face. He doesn’t want to be a disappointment. He knows – of course – that it’s not how things work, that he has the right to say no for whatever reason. He knows that Phil will understand that.

It hurts him to say no. It seems like there isn’t much disappointment on Phil’s face, he just looks like he’s worried, but it only makes Dan want to run away and hide even more. They haven’t had sex for ages. He doesn’t even remember when the last time was. He’s tired on the daily basis, he’s not in the mood, he doesn’t crave intimacy, for some reason it rather scares him. His thoughts get more and more ridiculous, like what if he wouldn’t even be able to get it up? It would only add a couple of points to his private statistics of being a loser.

Then there is a short moment of clarity, or at least something that seems like clarity, that brings other thoughts into his head. Maybe it’s because Phil is right in front of him, and all restrained memories somehow find their way back. In that moment Dan thinks that Phil loves him. That he cares more about him than about what Dan has to offer.

It’s scary, for some strange, intangible reason, so his thoughts get back to the dead rat, and that’s when his fear comes back too. It all isn’t about sex, it isn’t about Phil, it’s something greater, something that he doesn’t understand, something that is slowly taking control over every aspect of his life and every part of his brain – or at least it seems like it does.

Phil understands that Dan needs space, that he isn’t doing great right now. Phil is accepting, caring, sympathetic. But what would he do if he knew that when Dan saw that rat, his first thought was _I wish that was me_? That for a moment, on some deep, twisted level he did really mean it?

*

They’re watching a random Instagram video, killing boredom.

“Would you jump of that cliff?” Phil asks.

“I’ve had enough near-death experiences already.”

“We both did.”

“How are we even still alive?”

“Mystery.”

Sometimes Dan thinks – selfishly, arrogantly – that he’s alive because he has a mission. Some unknown mission, something he’s supposed to do in his life that he hasn’t figured out yet. When he’ll achieve it, he’ll die in peace.

*

They mention death surprisingly often, mostly because Dan jokes about it. The conversations are very rarely serious, maybe almost never.  
  
Dan remembers asking Phil what he would do if Dan died, he remembers the sad glare and the words _you know that it upsets me_. They moved on. They always move on.

They’ve been joking from that point on. They’ve stopped taking it seriously. Phil has learnt to accept the dark humour in Dan’s jokes, he’s even learned to laugh at them.

Dan still doesn’t know if it’s all been fair.

*

“Phil, you’re gonna kill me,” Dan whines after Phil’s body crushes his own. He feels himself sinking into the mattress, and he also feels the pain spreading from his knee up and down his right leg. God, Phil’s even more clumsy when he’s drunk.

Phil doesn’t seem to care much. He wiggles a little and positions himself so that he’s propped on his forearms, still on top of Dan, and looks at him with this sort of intensity that is reserved for the moments when they have sex or are particularly romantic. What comes out of his mouth doesn’t seem to belong to this second category.

“I’ll sing victory songs at your grave,” he says, but Dan focuses more on contemplating how shiny his eyes are.

He needs a moment to recall what he’s said that Phil’s referring to, before he says, “Singing songs? On a cemetery? Obscene.”

Phil shifts so that his hipbone painfully digs into Dan’s thigh. Dan doesn’t say anything about it. Phil looks like he’s having fun.

“Yes. And I’ll be telling you about my days. I will tell you with details how I fingered myself the evening before and what size and colour had the dildo I used after – “

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Dan says covering Phil’s mouth with his hand. Phil tries to wiggle out from it and eventually gets off Dan, slides off him onto the left side of the bed.

It’s silent for a moment, and Dan thinks that maybe Phil is going to fall asleep. He’s even weirder when he’s drunk, even more chaotic.

“What would you do?” Phil asks, out of the sudden, and Dan almost rolls his eyes at his previous thoughts. Of course Phil isn’t going to let him sleep.

Dan doesn’t answer immediately, and that’s probably why Phil moves nearer to him again. His face is now so close that Dan can smell the alcohol way too clearly. It reminds him of the cocktails filling his own stomach, and of the hangover that Phil’s going to have tomorrow. Also, it just stinks.

Phil keeps staring at him, so he mumbles, confused, “What?”

“What would you do if I died?”

Dan frowns, maybe. He’s sure he doesn’t move in shock of what he’s just heard. Theoretically he knows that Drunk Phil is quite unpredictable. At the same time, it’s almost suspicious that he’s coherent enough to have a meaningful conversation right now. That he asks question different than _Dan, do you think that birds go on holidays_ or _Dan, what would you do if you turned into a spider_.

Dan secretly wishes for him not to remember this conversation in the morning. It’s not something that Phil would normally say. He’s more courageous when he’s drunk, a little more social and talkative, a little less scared of human interaction. A little more giggly. But not as direct, especially not when it comes to this kind of talk.

“I guess I would have an existential crisis for the rest of my life.” Dan’s answer is way too honest, and maybe he said that only because he’s still tipsy. He kind of regrets it in the moment the words leave his mouth. Phil doesn’t seem to be startled. He smiles fondly and a little absentmindedly at him.

“You have that anyway.”

*

If he has a limited time on earth, he might as well appreciate as much of it as he can – that’s what he’s trying to tell himself, over and over again. All the nights spent on the couch watching films. All the times they had sex and went on dates.  He’s thankful for that. He’s thankful for the days when he wakes up feeling a little better, like the world has become a bit lighter, feeling a little more hope and gratitude for all the good things in his life. All the little moments, like editing a video and seeing how much love there is in Phil’s eyes and how he sometimes looks like he’s entranced and suddenly being hit with the realisation that _oh wow, it’s really me that he’s looking at, and he’s chosen me from all those people, oh god_.

Dan can’t imagine a life without Phil. He also knows that in a different version of the reality he could never have met him and he could have gone on about his life just fine. He could have not been a youtuber and have become a lawyer instead or – maybe not a lawyer, but someone. Someone with a regular job, and he could be single or married, and he could have kids or not, and he could still listen to Kanye and play video games at night and keep buying tons of scented candles, just – without him.

What a strange life it would be.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://lovestillaround.tumblr.com/)


End file.
